


She is Broken and Won't Ask for Help

by elphaba_swan



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies), The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: Child Murder, Dark Descendants, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Murder, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Recovery, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 13:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19993033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elphaba_swan/pseuds/elphaba_swan
Summary: "What do you want Claudine?"In which Claudine Frollo tries to cope with the aftermath, and tries to figure out what she truly wants - to be safe, or take revenge?





	She is Broken and Won't Ask for Help

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I'm sorry! This isn't what I'm supposed to be working on, but I thought this would tide you all over until the newest chapter. I hope you all enjoy this!

Claudine wiped her palms on her dress before hesitantly raising her hand and knocking on the door.

From behind the door, she hears a dim “Come in.”

Swallowing back her apprehension, Claudine turns the doorknob and lets herself into the Captain’s cabin.

A lamp hangs from the center of the room, casting soft light. There are makeshift lanterns around the room, the flickering candle flames making shadows crawl on the walls. A large desk is pushed up against the window, with a pile of books propped on top of it. The bed is pushed to the other side of the room, the navy sheets in disarray. In the middle of it all sits Uma, lounging on an armchair like it is a throne. Her black dress is cut high in the front, the skirt brushing the floor in the back. It is the kind of dress that would have made her father whisper “whore” and clutch his cross, while his eyes travelled lustfully over her form.

The thought of her father makes her stomach clench, and she is relieved when Uma gestures for her to sit down in an empty chair.

“How are you feeling?” Uma’s eyes, Claudine thinks, are particularly unnerving, not just because of the fact that they are so dark that one feels like they are drowning when they are looking into them, but because they don’t seem to miss anything. Having Uma’s full attention on her is terrifying.

“Um,” she looks down, picking at a loose thread on her sleeves. “Better. Bonnie says the cut on my head is healing well, and the knife missed my internal organs, so I got lucky.”

“That’s good,” Uma leans back, twisting her braids in her hands. “But Bonnie already told me all of that. How do you _feel_?”

The memory flashes in her head -

_“Does that feel good, little girl?” Anthony sneers down at her, blue eyes cutting and when she tries to jerk away, he just holds her down and laughs. “Does my dick feel good to you?”_

\- But then it is gone, and Claudine digs her nails into her palms, trying to focus on the present.

“I’m fine,” she whispers.

“Really?” Claudine raises her eyes to meet Uma’s skeptical ones. “Because Murph tells me you’re barely speaking to him, Marya tells me that you’re only eating half of your meals and giving the rest away, and Harry and I can hear you screaming at night.”

She can feel her shoulders rising up with each accusation, and the words stutter out of her mouth ungracefully. “I’m – I’m sorry, I’ll do – I’ll do better, I – I promise. I’ll go – go somewhere else to sleep.”

“Jesus Claudine,” Uma sighs, sweeping her hair back. “That’s not what I meant, okay? You don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to. Having nightmares isn’t your fault or something you can control; we’re not going to kick you out for that. All that really concerns me is the food part. But – don’t lie and say you’re all right when you’re clearly not.”

“I’m sorry,” Claudine says again, and her father’s voice swirls in her head, whispering about sins and lying, and she can feel herself retreating into the chair.

Uma frowns at her. “You’re under my protection. If something’s bothering you, then tell me, and I’ll make it better.”

A hysterical laugh bubbles up in Claudine’s throat. How in Heaven’s name can anyone ever make anything better for her?

Uma’s eyes widen, and Claudine realizes belatedly that she has said that part out loud. Heat flushes her skin, and her breaths grow shallow. “I’m sor—”

“Don’t apologize,” Uma tilts her chair back onto two legs. “You know,” she says, a rueful look on her face. “I think that’s the first time you’ve spoken what you were really thinking since you got here.”

Claudine remains silent, afraid to speak lest something else slips out of her traitorous mouth.

“I mean, you’re right, of course.” Uma says casually. “I can’t make things better for you, no one can.”

Thinking it and hearing it are two absolutely different things, and the words land like a blow to her chest.

“But I can try to make things easier for you. Make you more comfortable.”

Her chest hurts when she breathes, but when she looks into Uma’s eyes, she sees that the other girl is genuine.

Uma eyes her calculatingly. “If you want, I can tell the other boys not to have any contact with you. Gil’s already sleeping in my old room; a few more can bunk there. I’ll even send Harry off the ship; I know he makes you uncomfortable—”

“No! No – Uma, I – that’s not – you don’t need to do that.” Panic is crawling under her skin, because she has seen the way that Harry looks at Uma, and she knows the first mate will not leave Uma’s side willingly. “He – he won’t like – like that.”

Uma looks annoyed and lets her chair fall forward onto four legs. “It’s not about what Harry likes; it’s about your peace of mind. If Harry has a problem with it, which I doubt he will, then he’ll take it up with me, not with you.”

“But – but – you still – still don’t need to – to do that.” It surprises even Claudine, but it’s the truth. Up close, Harry doesn’t look a thing like Anthony. The faces are completely different, and Harry is all muscle where Anthony is slender and lean. It is only from a distance, when Claudine can only see Harry’s black hair and a flash of blue eyes, that she starts to shake and barricades herself into the nearest room.

“Then what do you want?” Uma’s voice is firm, but not unkind. “What do you want Claudine?”

_My mother. For Hermie and Hadie to still be alive. To feel like I can be safe again._

All of those answers slip into her head, but the one that slips out of her mouth is completely different.

“Justice.”

Uma’s eyes narrow. “That’s cute, but I’m going to need a real answer.”

“That is my answer,” Claudine replies, something that feels dangerously like confidence straightening her shoulders and strengthening her voice. “I want justice.”

Something flares in Uma’s eyes, and Claudine tries not to flinch back, but all the other girl does is reach into her boot and pull out a black-handled knife, turning it in her hands.

“Justice,” Uma says slowly, the knife balancing in her palm. “If there was such thing as justice, then I would’ve already made sure that Anthony and the Gaston twins would be too afraid to leave their houses, let alone get within a hundred feet of a girl.” Her eyes harden, and she sticks the point of the knife into the arm of the chair, digging it in viciously. “I would be able to flay Maddy Mim alive without worrying about her psycho grandmother, instead of just getting to kill Ginny.”

Part of Claudine’s mind shudders at how easily Uma talks about killing Ginny, but a larger part remembers Hermie’s mangled body and Hadie’s head rolling down the cobblestones like a gruesome piece of fruit . . . And the larger part roars its approval for Uma.

Uma’s lips curl up into a bitter smile. “Justice would mean you feel safe again.” She pulls out the knife, leaving a deep gouge in the wood. “But we’re _villains_ ,” she spits out the word like it’s dirty, “and we don’t get justice.”

She stands up, flipping the knife expertly and walking over to Claudine.

“There is no justice for villains,” Uma says, her voice full of barely-contained fury. “No justice in this godforsaken Isle.”

She offers the knife to Claudine, blade out. “But we can take revenge, and sometimes, that’s even better.”

Claudine stares at the blade, and she remembers her father cursing and screaming at her. _The whore tricked me, and the Beata Maria punished me for my weakness with a demon. My soul is damned because of you, godless one, you and the bitch that whelped you._ She remembers Hermie’s father breaking down when he found out that his daughter was dead, and she remembers Persephone’s scream and how it echoed throughout the Isle, leaving all the plants shriveled and dead. She remembers Diego’s smile, and Eddie’s pranks, and their bodies, mutilated and torn into. She thinks of the identical leers on the Gaston twin’s faces, and of how her screams had only amused Anthony. She thinks of Uma and her crew, how they had all found a way to survive on the Isle out of a primordial desire to outlast their parents and anyone else who had ever looked down on them.

She thinks of all these things, and the fire inside of her, the one that she thought had been gone after that night, blazes to life.

For the first time, she wants to live again.

Claudine looks at Uma and says, “I’ll take revenge.”

A dark smile spreads across Uma’s face and Claudine finds herself smiling back in return.


End file.
